To Show His Quality
by Meatball
Summary: So what if Faramir had been the one to go to Rivendell, rather than Boromir? Would he have betrayed the fellowship? Please read and review, thanks!


Title: To Show His Quality  
  
Author: Meatball  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, then I do not own it.  
  
Summary: What if Faramir HAD gone to Rivendell, instead of Boromir? Would he have betrayed the Fellowship? My first LOTR fic...please, read and review! Thanks!  
  
PS: This is so totally A.U. and O.O.C. It's just for fun. Cheers!  
  
***  
  
"I will go to Rivendell; in his stead."  
  
The soft voice carried, despite the noisy surroundings. Faramir's voice, ever gentle and soft. Boromir glanced at him swiftly, with an encouraging smile. Denethor merely scowled, and waved his hand dismissively.  
  
"No."  
  
"Yes, Father!" Animated, Boromir gestured at his younger brother. "Yes, Father! That would be ideal. I -- and my men -- will stay here. For we have much to do! Osgiliath needs much work, Father. Much work, for which I am eager to begin. Particularly," He lowered his voice, and glanced around cautiously. "Particularly if we are soon to be in possession of this glorious weapon. On my honour, sir. You can trust Faramir to accomplish this thing." He waited, somewhat impatiently, for his father's response. Denethor could rarely say no to Boromir.  
  
"Go, then." The older man's voice was dry, reedy. "But do not fail." He suddenly fixed his younger son with a malevolent glare. "Fail not, boy, or your stinking skin I'll have for a scouring rag for the privvies. Bah!" Denethor spat, sourly, and stalked off.  
  
"Oh, fairly said, old man," muttered Boromir sarcastically to the retreating figure.   
  
"I care little, Boromir." Faramir smiled brightly. "I'll bring this damned ring back for him. Shan't take no time at all, I'll wager. And it will give me a chance..."  
  
"...to shelter that overly-large nose of yours in the famed libraries of Rivendell!" Boromir finished for him, laughing. "Little brother, you are as transparent as a cold stream in the spring. For I understood your motives well and truly."  
  
"Not only that, big brother." Saucily, Faramir cocked an eye at him. "T'is said that the elven maidens are fair, wondrously fair..."  
  
Laughing, the two brothers strode off together, to prepare for Faramir's long journey.  
  
***  
  
"Faramir of Gondor, my Lord Elrond." The Elf's whispery-shimmery voice blended perfectly with the subtle sounds of Rivendell. The haunting melodies that infused the very air; the conspiratorial muttering of the waterfalls; and a thousand other sounds, which Faramir could not immediately identify. All meshed perfectly, in a pleasing way.  
  
He was sore, weary. The journey had been long, and at times, perilous. Against his nature, he had deftly avoided a roving band of Orcs. Foul things, he would have much liked to rid Middle Earth of them; however, he had far more important errands than dispatching Orcs, and in this instance he had to rely on the 'better part of valour', as it was called, though it chafed. Later for you, vile disgusting cretins, he promised himself grimly.   
  
"Welcome, Faramir of Gondor. Son of Denethor, I believe?" Lord Elrond favoured the young human with an appraising look. "I once met your mother, young man. You favour her strongly."  
  
"Thank you, Lord Elrond." He bowed.  
  
"What can I do for you?" Though courteous, there was that in Elrond's voice that gave Faramir cause to suspect that Elrond already knew why Faramir was there.   
  
"My father has sent me, Lord Elrond, to attend your council in regards to the One Ring -- if, indeed, such a thing exists."  
  
Elrond sighed. "We will discuss that matter, and others, at the council meeting. You are most welcome to Rivendell, Faramir of Gondor."  
  
"I thank you, my Lord. But," He paused, then smiled self-consciously. "My journey has been long. I am tired, and hungry, and I stink of horse and sweat and steel. Might there be occasion to refresh myself, before attending this council?"  
  
Elrond smiled at the young man. "The council is not until late afternoon. Come; you are a guest here, in my house. I will show you to your chambers. When you have rested, you may join us in the great hall for noonmeal; indeed, we would be honoured to have you there. There are many guests here, for you to meet and converse with. After that, you will have a few hours to spend as you wish, before the council. Does this meet with your approval?"  
  
"It does, indeed; and I thank you." With another bow, Faramir followed the ageless man out of the foyer, thinking eagerly of Rivendell's bookchambers. I could covet this land, he thought to himself. Perhaps, when the ring came into his possession...but he put aside such thoughts for now. Time enough to think of such things. It still remained for him to claim this ring, if it did indeed exist. But for now, a bath and a meal were his most consuming concerns. The ring could wait.  
  
***  
  
"Of course, the ring must be destroyed."   
  
Faramir glanced around at his other council members. Many more than he had expected. The Mirkwood Elves had sent their young prince -- Legolas, was it? -- to represent them. The boy -- whom Faramir realized was most likely several centuries old, though his face was young and fresh -- was very courteous, yet very sprightly, as though suffused with an inner joy and vitality. Faramir liked him immediately.  
  
The Dwarves had sent one of their own, a young man named Gimli, referred to as Gloin's son. He vaguely recognized the name. He liked the look of the Dwarf. He looked solid, earthy, practical. A good sort to have at one's side, whether in a pub or on a battlefield.   
  
His old friend, Mithrandir, sat across from him. How often he had wished to run away, as a child, to become an apprentice to the old wizard! For Mithrandir had been more of a father to him, even though his visits were infrequent, then his own father could ever have been bothered to be. They had not time to speak, before the meeting, but Mithrandir had directed a warm smile and wink in Faramir's direction as they were all introduced.  
  
Beside him sat one of the Dunedain, a Ranger named Aragorn. The man seemed decent enough. Faramir had heard the legends and the stories of the Dunedain, had marvelled at them as a child, and had longed to meet one. Though he seemed ordinary on the outside, Faramir could sense an extraordinariness about the man, a hint that all was not as it appeared to be. He wondered how old Aragorn was, and resolved to ask him later, if the opportunity arose.   
  
Next to Mithrandir sat four beings whom Faramir had mistakenly supposed to be children. He gazed at them in wonder. Halflings! Rumours had reached his people of such a race, and here now was confirmation of their existence. And what creatures! To undertake such an arduous journey on their own, to fight and out-manoeuvre the dark riders, to make it all the way to Rivendell. What brave, resourceful little creatures! Of all the respected company in this dell, these four marvelous Hobbits commanded the most of his respect, and justly so. He should much like to visit this 'Shire' someday. His wandering attention was wrenched back to the matters at hand by Elrond's question.  
  
"Forgiveness, Lord Elrond, I did not pay attention to your question."   
  
"So it seems." Elrond looked at Faramir directly. "What is your vote? Yea or nay?"  
  
"Ah." Faramir gazed at the ring, lying innocently upon the stone block mere feet away from him. "Yea. It must be destroyed."  
  
"I believe we have a unanimous vote, then. And now, for a plan?"  
  
Again, Elrond went around the gathering, allowing each his opinion. When the question reached Faramir, he was quick to reply (not having allowed his attention to wander this time). "Lord Elrond, my solution is merely this. I can bring this artefact to Gondor. From there, I can command a host of men to accompany me to Mount Doom. This can be done. There are several ways into Mordor, which can be used to avoid the guards. We can then destroy this ring. What say you?"  
  
"This plan is reasonable, and we shall consider it. And Aragorn? Have you an opinion?"  
  
"Yes, Lord Elrond." Aragorn smiled, tiredly. "Faramir's plan is the best one. Yet I would like to accompany him."  
  
"I would like that," Faramir added hastily. "And thank you, Aragorn. I can think of few better things than having the assistance of one of the Dunedain."  
  
"And I," added Gimli. "You have my axe, laddie."  
  
"And my bow," said the Prince Legolas.  
  
"And I," said Mithrandir, smiling, "Will escort these estimable young Hobbits back to the Shire. Your work here is done, my friends."  
  
Elrond was silent for a moment; then, he nodded and stood. "Very well. This is right. We will follow this course of action. May the winds of fortune and favour blow your way, gentlemen."  
  
***  
  
The wind was cold. The stars were bright in the sky, and Faramir sat, shivering, as he stood watch during the night.   
  
They were six days out from Rivendell. They would reach Gondor in two days time. Their journey had been uneventful thus far.  
  
Faramir checked again, to make sure that his companions were sleeping soundly. The ring was heavy, on a chain about his neck. It had been decided that whichever one of them that stood watch would protect the ring that night. He was due to wake Aragorn in a few moments, to transfer watch duty to the Ranger.  
  
Except that Aragorn would never awake.  
  
The sleeping powder that Faramir had sprinkled into their food seemed to have taken effect.   
  
Slowly, he arose.   
  
They were all still solidly asleep.   
  
It was time to make his move.  
  
He slipped the ring onto his finger, gasping a little at the icy heat that it generated. His vision seemed oddly impaired. No matter. He could still see to use his sword.  
  
It was a second's swift work, to slice the throats of his companions. He felt a little regret, at the waste, for they were all fine people.  
  
Moving silently for such a tall, broad-shouldered man, he took flight, invisible to all.  
  
***  
  
"Going somewhere?"  
  
The quiet tones startled him, and he stumbled over some brush.  
  
"You!" He slipped the ring off his finger and into his pocket.  
  
"Yes. Me."  
  
"Get out..." Breathing somewhat raggedly, Faramir drew his blood-stained sword. "Get out of my way. Now."  
  
"Or what?" The voice was amused.  
  
"Or I'll run you through." Faramir's voice shook, a little.  
  
"You wouldn't dare."  
  
"Try me."  
  
A pause. "Hand over the ring."  
  
"Come and get it." Steely blue eyes met equally-steely grey ones.  
  
"Come now. Surely we can share."  
  
"I think not."  
  
"Faramir." The voice was warm, coaxing. "I'll take Gondor. You take Rivendell."  
  
"No."  
  
"Come now. You know you covet Rivendell. You know it. I know it. I know you." A soft laugh. "I know you better than anyone, little brother."  
  
Faramir sneered. "But why would I settle for Rivendell, when I could have it all? Move out of the way, Boromir."  
  
The soft hiss of a blade being drawn from its sheath. "No, little brother." His tone changed. "Faramir...have I not always loved you? Looked out for you? Shared with you?"  
  
"Yes, Boromir. You have."  
  
"So why not share? Why are two brothers at odds, when we could be side by side?"  
  
"Because I don't want to share. However..."  
  
"Yes?" Boromir asked, eagerly.  
  
"Would you consider being my first-in-command?"  
  
"Your...why, of course, Faramir." Boromir smiled, although Faramir saw the insincerity behind it. "Yes. Of course." He held his arms out, replacing his sword in his sheath. "My little brother."  
  
Faramir smiled back, and allowed Boromir to embrace him. "My big brother."  
  
Suddenly Boromir gasped, and paled. The starlight shone off the hilt of the dagger sticking out of his side.  
  
"My untrustworthy big brother," Faramir said, as Boromir slid to his knees, staring beseechingly up at him. "How long, before you would have killed me, Boromir? Or made me a grovelling slave? Not long, I trust. Not long at all."  
  
He turned and began to walk away, slipping the ring on his finger as he went. "And now...Faramir, Captain of Gondor, shall prove his quality." He laughed, feeling the power course through him. "I must pay a visit to my dear father, first of all..."  
  
A feeble voice behind him made him pause, and wrenched his heart. "I would...never...have betrayed...you...little brother...never...for I...love you...dearly...I...would...never...leave...you..."  
  
***  
  
Soaked with sweat, Faramir awoke with a gasp, feeling the tears course down his cheeks.  
  
A dream.  
  
It had been a dream.  
  
Eowyn lay beside him, sleeping softly. Faramir got up and looked out of his window, down at the statue of Boromir, his broken horn encased forever in heavy crystal, at the base of the statue. The stately statues of King Elessar and Queen Arwen smiled reassuringly over the city.  
  
Faramir began to sob, with sorrow for his beloved brother, and with relief.  
  
For it had only been a dream.  
  
Oh Boromir, he sobbed, silently. Why did you ever leave me?  
  
*** 


End file.
